Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood
by Mr. McGiggles
Summary: Current Phase: Part I of 3. Having left the Brotherhood and finished securing New Vegas' independence, Veronica struggles to find her place in the world until she comes across a mysterious stranger from the east.
1. Part I: Chapter 1

**Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood**

**Part I: Chapter 1**

Veronica sat down at the bar at Trading Post 188. It had been a rather uneventful day. She scavenged an abandoned pre-war office building looking for any interesting books to read or anything that could keep her mind occupied for a period of time, but all she could find were a couple of ruined books that were unreadable and an instruction guide to the assembly of an office chair.

After some more scavenging, she found the half assembled chair that the instructions were meant for. For entertainment's sake, Veronica decided to try to finish the chair's assembly, but realized there was a missing component. She wandered around the office building a little more, searching for the missing component with no avail. She finally called it quits on her scavenging run and decided to head to the Outpost for a drink.

Sometimes Veronica regretted leaving the Brotherhood of Steel. Even when they were sending her on pointless scouting and scavenging missions, she had a purpose and a place she could call home. Now she was the equivalent to a wandering vagrant. Even though she missed her old home, seeing a group of paladins harass some wastelander over a fission battery or some other small scrap of technology made her even more sure that leaving the Brotherhood was the right choice.

It had been roughly two years since "Mr. House" took over the Hoover Dam and liberated the Mojave. With the united factions of the Mojave behind him, Mr. House managed to drive the NCR and Caesar's Legion out of the region, giving Vegas the Independence it deserved.

Of course, that was the simplified version of the story. It was the story that travelers and traders on the road who weren't there at the time told each other. The story was much more complex and would be told a lot differently if one was there to see how it all happened.

"How much will these give me?" asked Veronica as she pulled two ruined books out of her scavenging bag.

"Hmm," said the bartender, stroking his chin as he examined the two large books, "Not much I'm afraid. The only use that I have for them is to help keep the barrel fire going at night. I could pay you three caps or two shots of whiskey. Which would you prefer?"

"Give me the whiskey," said Veronica. The offer was generous, even for the bartender who she befriended a few months back.

She normally took caps, but today was one of those more depressing days where she scavenged nothing interesting and did nothing productive. Not that it mattered though; with the exception of a friendship with Mr. House, she had no cause or allegiance. For the most part, she was just a lone wanderer.

At least tomorrow would be more interesting. There was supposed to be a large shipment of medical supplies coming up from the south that was headed north to the Follower's outpost at the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside. Veronica signed up to help guard the caravan on the stretch of road between Trading Post 188 and New Vegas. They were expected to arrive at the 188 by morning.

Although she never joined The Followers of the Apocalypse, she liked helping out where she could, and this caravan really looked like it needed assistance. From what she saw told by one of the trail organizers, there was way too much supplies and not enough manpower to transport it safely through the Mojave. In addition to the usual stimpaks and bandages, there was loads of psycho and med-x, enough to last even the worst junky half a year. It would be a dangerous job, and she wouldn't get paid as much as one of the regular caravan gaurds, but the wage would beat the big three caps worth of books she sold today. Besides, Veronica was no stranger to danger, and she could use a little excitement every now and then.

Veronica downed the two shots in two consecutive gulps. She wasn't able to hold her liquor like Cass could, but it would take more than two shots of whiskey to get her drunk, or at least drunk enough to be receptive to the typical guy who would try to hit on her at the bar. She turned around in her bar stool and watched the people go by.

The outpost had changed quite a bit in the past couple of years since New Vegas became independent. Four other shacks and stands had risen in addition to the general store and the bar. A weapons shack opened up not long after the NCR left and managed to put the gun runner's stand out of business with it's lower prices and willingness to sell to everyone. A boarding house opened up soon after that. Then a medical clinic opened up when a doctor in New Vegas realized that there was business to be made by starting a convenient medical center for Brotherhood soldiers out on patrol. Finally, the most recent addition to the 188 was the clothing and armor stand. That place sold anything from pre-war clothing to the heaviest armor that you could find in the wastes, or at least the heaviest armor that wasn't Brotherhood armor.

Trading activity had reached its highest since the NCR first arrived in the Mojave. In the absence of the Legion and the NCR in the region, there was virtually nothing to stop raiding activity in areas that weren't patrolled by the Brotherhood or Mr. House's forces. Despite the drawbacks of an independent Vegas, if the NCR were in power, they would continue burdening traders with heavy taxes that most people in the Mojave wouldn't be able to afford. If the Legion took over, risk of enslavement would have discouraged folks to come out and trade at all. Overall conditions for trading in the Mojave were great, you just needed enough protection.

Veronica could hear a light hissing sound from the hydraulics of a set of power armor approaching behind her. She turned her head to see Paladin Ramos approaching. He stopped at the edge of the bar, standing beside her.

"Huh, I thought that was you. Still wearing that old set of scribe robes, I see," said Ramos in a friendly tone.

Despite having left the Brotherhood and killing a few paladins in the process, Veronica was still on friendly terms with the Brotherhood…or at least most of the Brotherhood.

"Yeah," said Veronica, turning her eyes back towards the crowds she was watching pass by, "You didn't hear? Old, discolored, muddied brown scribe robes are the new in thing in fashion now."

The paladin chuckled, "Heh, you know Veronica, I have to say that the one thing I miss the most about you was your sense of humor. It got in the way sometimes, but it reminded me of myself when I was younger."

"Really," remarked Veronica, turning her head in mild bewilderment towards Ramos. Ramos was normally willing to play along with Veronica's antics, but she had never seen him go out of his way to be humorous.

"Hehe," the Paladin let out another small laugh, more directed at himself than it was at Veronica's remark, "I guess it's pretty hard to see now, but I used to be known as the funny guy in my younger days. I even managed to get one of the drill paladins to laugh during basic training."

"So how come you don't try to make people laugh now? What happened?" asked Veronica.

"War with the NCR happened," responded Ramos frankly, "the more I saw my friends die, the less I felt the urge to make people laugh."

Veronica was silent for a while. She was actually able to relate to Ramos' story. On the few occasions when she actually had a chance to make a sarcastic or funny remark, she either didn't make one at all or she had to force it out of herself. Humor didn't come as easily to her as it once did.

The two remained in silence for a while, watching people go by until Veronica spoke up, "So what brings you all the way out to the 188? I thought you were in charge of security at Hidden Valley."

"I still am, but now I'm in charge of security at all Brotherhood stations in the Mojave. A patrol east of here apparently took a strange looking waster in possession of some highly sought after technology into custody about an hour ago."

"What kind of sought after technology?"

"The report wasn't specific, but the guy claims that he's Brotherhood, and he knows things that only a member of the Brotherhood of Steel would know."

"What does he know?"

"He was able to recite lines from the codex as well as other information that could only be accessed by a member of the Brotherhood."

"But if he is Brotherhood, then what's the problem?"

"He refused to cooperate fully with the patrolmen."

"I don't get it," stated Veronica, now getting up off her stool, "Why take him into custody, and why does this require the head of security?"

"Well when I said refused to cooperate fully, I meant that he got violent when the patrol tried to confiscate his technology," explained Paladin Ramos, "According to the report, he managed to injure two of the patrolmen in full power armor with his bare hands. The rest of the patrol managed to get the better of him though and got him restrained, but they've been keeping him under a constant watch and claim they don't have enough men to move him safely."

Veronica raised an eyebrow after hearing this. Ramos caught her reaction, "Yeah I know it's pretty hard to believe myself, but if it's all true, we can't have someone that dangerous and with extensive Brotherhood knowledge wandering around the Mojave. Because of that, this is a security issue, and McNamara and Hardin don't want us taking any chances in these kinds of situations."

Ramos pointed towards a group of four other heavily equipped Paladins. Two were armed with gauss rifles. The other two were armed with a gatling laser and an anti-material rifle. Whatever this guy did, he must have had the Brotherhood really spooked.

"We're supposed to rendezvous here with another patrol coming in from the west near the Repcon HQ. Speaking of which…" Ramos gestured towards a group of another five knights and paladins coming down the road reaching the other end of the trading post.

"We're bringing the prisoner to Helios I. Hardin's going to want to take a look at him," said Paladin Ramos as he pulled his gauss rifle over his shoulder. He started making his way towards the gathering group of knights and paladins, but stopped a few steps ahead of Veronica and turned towards her one last time, "I don't know what you've been through or what you've seen in the past couple of years, but if you can, do yourself a favor and try not to lose yourself. You'll regret it if you do."

With that said, the Paladin put on his power helmet and continued making his way towards the group. Veronica didn't say anything; Ramos probably wasn't expecting her to. She sat back on her barstool and continued observing people go by, reflecting on her short conversation with the paladin.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay so I'm just going to say this right off the bat, feedback is great, and I would love to hear it, praising or critical, it'll only make my writing better. Also, I'm not sure if I structured the dialogue between characters properly or not so if anyone has any extensive knowledge on that subject please let me know. Also, if there are any other grammar errors that you may notice, please point them out to me; I've always had trouble using proper grammar and would be very grateful if someone pointed out the mistakes so I could fix them and avoid them in later chapters.**


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

**Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood**

**Part I: Chapter 2 **

Paladin Ramos took a look at the prisoner. The captive was staring at the ground while two Paladins stood next to him, standing guard. The guy's hair was unkept, his face was unshaven, and a thin layer of dust and sweat coated most of his face. He looked like he had just been through one hell of a journey.

All eyes were watching the captive carefully. Ramos moved his focus to the confiscated equipment that was lying on the ground next to one of the Knights. There was a pip-boy, some sort of silenced assault rifle, and a modified combat helmet.

Ramos to a look at the pip-boy. He wasn't sure what model it was, but one of the scribes could probably tell him which series it belonged to. Though pip-boys were not immediately threatening and dangerous technology, it could be used as a useful tool for any of those who wished to bring harm to anyone else, making it fair game for the Brotherhood.

The paladin then picked up the modified assault rifle to take a closer look at it. It was a silenced variant of the R91 series, a rifle model that was rather rare in these parts of the wastes. According to one of the scribes who had discovered a small cache of them in California, the silenced variant was popular among the pre-war Special Forces. The Brotherhood didn't normally confiscate conventional guns, but anyone who was in possession of a silenced firearm and didn't have a license issued by the New Vegas Military or any other organization or institution recognized by the Brotherhood often had their silenced weapons confiscated.

The last piece of equipment stood out among the rest.

"Hmm," said Paladin Ramos as he picked up the modified helmet, "conventional combat helmet with what looks like a T-45a eye piece for which appears to be used as a pair of goggles, and an air filtration mask that covers the bottom half of the face."

Paladin Ramos looked up smugly at the prisoner, "I'm guessing this helmet has undergone a few…modifications since it left the factory lines before the war."

The Paladin looked at the prisoner again. He was wearing some sort of reinforced trench coat or duster. Ramos moved closer to get a closer look at the captive's apparel.

"Let's see," remarked Ramos as he examined the prisoner's armor, "Worn out trench coat draped over leather type armor…Oh! And what is this?"

Ramos grabbed on to one of the captive's armored shoulders, shaking the prisoner from the armored plate. The sarcasm and mockery was clear in the Paladin's voice.

"A T-45a shoulder plate used to protect the left shoulder and a T-51b used to protect the right!" Ramos let go of the prisoner, "Don't tell me let me guess, you just 'found' those pieces of power armor lying around somewhere."

The prisoner said nothing.

"I must say, I got to hand it to ya," remarked Ramos as he paced away from the prisoner, "This is all a pretty clever bastardization of Brotherhood technology. If you really are one of us, you better have one hell of an excuse for doing this to your armor, soldier."

The prisoner finally looked up from the spot that he was starring at on the ground. A clear 'fuck you' was written across his face.

"Tell me, what's your rank?" asked Paladin Ramos.

The stranger said nothing, but continued to stare at his inquisitor. After a short silence, Ramos charged up towards the prisoner.

"I'm not going ask you again!" demanded Ramos, raising his voice and getting in his captive's face, "What is your rank, soldier?"

The prisoner didn't even blink at the Paladin's attempt to look intimidating.

"Sentinel," responded the prisoner coolly. There was a small pause among the crowd of Brotherhood soldiers; some of them began muttering to one another.

"Sentinel?" repeated Ramos, "That rank hasn't been occupied in at least a century. What chapter do you belong to?"

"East."

"East? East where? As far as I know, this chapter is as far east as the Brotherhood extends. Where the hell are you from?"

The prisoner continued to stare at Paladin Ramos in silence. Ramos considering pointing a gun at the prisoner's head to see if he would start talking, but quickly decided against it. This guy seemed like he had seen his fair share of guns pointed at his head before. Doing that now wouldn't make any difference to him. Besides, the real interrogation was supposed to happen at Helios 1, not out in the middle of the desert.

"Alright men," said Ramos, signaling the knights and paladins to get in formation, "We're moving the prisoner to the power station, get in your positions and stay alert."

* * *

><p>It was getting late. The sun was starting to set now. Veronica started making her way to the boarding area of the 188. She didn't manage to scavenge anything recently that was worth enough to pay for a bed in the shack for a night, so she would have to settle for one of the mats outside. The mats outside were free, but they were a first come, first serve deal; so unless she wanted to sleep in the dirt or the on the cement on the eroding highway, Veronica was going to have to find a mat before sundown. She started to approach an empty mat when a voice called out to her in the distance.<p>

"Veronica!"

Veronica turned around to see a set of power armor jogging towards her, holding some piece of pre-war tech.

"Veronica, Paladin Ramos wanted you to identify the model of this pip-boy. He said it would save him some time."

Veronica recognized the voice underneath the Helmet, "Stanton? Is that you?"

"Yeah!" said the eager voice underneath the helmet, "I just earned my armor a few months ago, I'm a Kight now."

"Good for you," said Veronica with a smile as she stretched out a hand, offering to examine the pip-boy. Though she didn't see him much, even before she left the Brotherhood, she had always been on friendly terms with Stanton. He was one of the few members of the Brotherhood who could honestly say that he was sad to see her go.

Veronica looked down at the pip-boy and instantly recognized the model. She had spent about three months following a man around the Mojave who had the exact same model.

"It's part of the 3000 series," stated Veronica handing the device back to the rookie Knight.

"Thanks," said Stanton, "and Paladin Ramos said to give you this for your trouble."

The former initiate stretched out his hand and dropped five caps into Veronica's palms. At first, Veronica thought she shouldn't accept the small reward, but decided against it when she realized that she would need money to eat tomorrow if she didn't want to spend any of her reserve caps.

"Tell Ramos I said thanks," said Veronica, "and it was good seeing you again, Stanton."

"Likewise"

As she watched Stanton make his way back to the large group of soldiers of what must have been the escort party transporting the prisoner to Helios I, Veronica couldn't help but feel sorry for the captive.

'Poor guy,' thought Veronica, 'imprisonment and possibly extreme interrogation, all because of a pip-boy he was using.'

Veronica turned around to see an old man in brahmin skin overalls take the last mat outside the boarding house.

"Aw crap."

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, so I know this is a really short chapter. The next few are going to be that way. For me, when it comes to writing, a chapter is done when its done. I don't specifically shoot for any sort a word count. A chapter is done when I feel the scenes have been completed. Fortunately, chapter 3 is basically done, I just have to polish it, and chapter 4 is now in progress.

I want to thank the people who have checked my grammar and pointed out some of the mistakes. Also, thank you for the feedback; it always helps me stay motivated to keep writing. As always, keep pointing out my mistakes so I can correct them, and any feedback would be much appreciated.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's another chapter. Please read, review, and correct**

* * *

><p><strong>Fallout Crusader of the Brotherhood<strong>

**Part I: Chapter 3**

Hardin picked up a bucket of water and splashed it in the prisoner's face. The room itself was cold, so the cold water would just add to the prisoner's discomfort. This guy was obviously withholding information.

"Listen," said Hardin, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's your choice…Sentinel." The last word had a hint of animosity behind it.

A single ceiling lamp illuminated Hardin and the prisoner in the center of the holding cell. The lamp casted shadows across Hardin's face, making him look more like a boogieman than a Paladin.

Two guards in full power armor were standing at the door. Hardin himself was also in his set of power armor, but he kept his helmet off. The prisoner was stripped to his under garments and was restrained in a metal foldable chair by a pair of handcuffs.

They were holding the prisoner in the maximum-security cell, located in the basement of Helios I. There were no windows, just single a metal door. Though it was completely cleaned out when the Brotherhood arrived, Hardin deduced that it must have been a janitor's closet before the war.

"I'm telling you the truth," stated the prisoner, the cold water dripping down his face. Despite his current situation, the man's voice seemed neither angered nor distressed.

"Stop lying to us!" demanded Hardin.

He moved his face close to the captive's, who seemed to look more agitated than scared, "You say you're a Sentinel, but that's not a conventional rank. And to be honest, I don't believe you."

The prisoner remained silent as the Head Paladin made his accusations. Hardin got the feeling that the he was up to something. You didn't manage to survive as many battles as he did without developing a sixth sense for danger. Something bad was about to happen, and Hardin was determined to find out before it went down.

"You also say that you belong to the Brotherhood in the northeast," continued Hardin, "even if you were part of that traitor, Lyons, and his chapter, why would he send just one man across the country alone?"

The prisoner looked down at the ground in what appeared to be shame. Hardin backed his face away from the prisoner. It was the first real emotional reaction that he managed to get out of him since the beginning of the interrogation.

"So you don't believe me," said the prisoner, looking back up at the Head Paladin, resuming his usual cool, calm, and collected demeanor.

"Why should we?" asked Hardin, "As far as we know, you stole that technology."

A long silence passed between the two. Hardin was expecting an answer from the prisoner, but he just remained silent, scanning the room with his eyes. Hardin knew he was up to something; the question was: what was it?

Hardin broke the silence, "You know, if you keep this facade up, we're going to have to use more...extreme methods."

"You won't have to,"

The next few moments passed in slow motion Hardin heard the jingle of a few small pieces of metal falling behind the prisoner's chair. He looked over the captive's soldier to see the broken remains of the prisoner's handcuffs and a bobby pin.

Before Hardin or any other of the guards could react, the prisoner picked up the metal chair and swung it at Hardin's head, hitting its mark. The impact knocked the Head Paladin to the ground, putting him out of commission for the moment.

The two men in full power armor drew their weapons as the prisoner approached them with his bare hands.

* * *

><p>Veronica was sound asleep until she felt the sensation of freefall. She woke up in mid-air but managed to land on all fours before she hit the ground. It took her a moment to come to her senses and figure out what just happened.<p>

She must have rolled off the flat-topped rock in her sleep. The fall wasn't very high. The rock was only about three or four feet tall, nothing that could cause any serious injury.

As Veronica dusted off her robes, she noticed there was a siren blaring in the distance. She looked in the direction where the noise was coming from and realized it was coming from the Helios I Power Plant.

It wasn't the first time the alarms went off there, but it didn't happen very often. Despite her grogginess, Veronica tried to think of what could be a reason as to why the sirens were going off. Then, it hit her, 'The prisoner.' To Veronica's knowledge, the only thing that could cause those sirens to go off would be if the prisoner were trying to escape.

Veronica's first reaction was to try to offer help to her old family, but then quickly opted not to. Chances are, the Brotherhood would either politely decline, or tell her to get lost. She would probably just get in the way. Besides, trying to take on a stranger who can fight soldiers in power armor with his fists wasn't exactly something she would like to try. Though the Brotherhood had a tendency to be conceited, they weren't stupid. They would probably have this whole ordeal sorted out by morning.

The sirens were close enough that Veronica could hear them, but far enough away that she would be able to go back to sleep with them on. She climbed back up onto her spot on the rock and tried to make it as comfortable as she let the slow rhythm of the sirens hypnotize her mind back to sleep.

* * *

><p>The door to the back entrance of the Helios I facility blew open as Hardin rushed through. Half his face was red and was already starting to swell. A Knight was standing there, waiting for him with the bad news.<p>

"Well?" asked Hardin as he turned towards the Knight.

"Sir," said the Knight, his voice made it clear that he was afraid of what the already pissed Head Paladin might do to him after hearing the update, "We lost him. We've scanned everywhere; he's nowhere to be found."

"Son of a bitch!"

Hardin slammed his power-armored fist into the nearby wall, leaving a large dent in the metal. The rest of his face that wasn't already red started to match the swelling side. For a moment, he looked as though he were about to hit the Knight, but then regained his composure.

"Alright tell Paladin Ramos to notify all Brotherhood outposts," commanded Hardin through gritted teeth, "and have him prep and send search parties out immediately. I want updates by the hour."

"Sir," the Knight saluted the Head Paladin and ran off to forward the information to Ramos.

Hardin stormed back into the facility. He was going to get this guy dead or alive.


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

**Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood**

**Part I: Chapter 4**

The rising sun was always a bittersweet welcome in the morning. It was sweet in the sense that the sun was warming up the miserably cold evening air, but bitter in the sense that in just a few hours, the whole desert was about to heat up like an oven.

Veronica's back was stiff from sleeping on her rock hard mattress last night, but at least today she would be able to earn some money that might be able to pay for a nice bed for a night.

Veronica noticed that the Brotherhood presence was a lot higher than usual at the 188. In a matter of fact, it was the highest she had ever seen since they came out of hiding. Normally, there was about one or two patrols stationed at the 188, about eight to ten soldiers. Veronica counted at least twenty, and they weren't all soldiers either. Some were scribes. Scribes rarely left their facilities unless there was some sort of emergency,

Veronica spotted Ramos among the some twenty odd soldiers. She walked up to him.

"Hey Ramos. What's going on with all the Brotherhood? You guys hosting a block party or something?"

Ramos tilted his head in confusion, "A what?"

Veronica shook her head, "It's a pre-war term. Don't worry about. What's up with all the troops stationed here?"

"You know that prisoner I was talking to you about?"

"Yeah,"

"He escaped,"

"Well that's a little rude," retorted Veronica, "Did he not even thank you for inviting him?"

"No, unfortunately not," shrugged Ramos, "I don't think he cared much for our hospitality."

Ramos turned his head to see a Knight wave him over. He looked back at Veronica, "Anyway, Hardin's about ready to tear the Mojave apart, looking for this guy. He claims its because Elder McNamara is in New Vegas and could be at risk, but I think he's just upset that the guy humiliated him."

"McNamara's in New Vegas?" asked Veronica, "Why?"

"Mr. House invited him to the grand reopening of the Lucky 38. Its supposed to happen tomorrow," answered Ramos.

"The Lucky 38 is opening?"

"Yeah its been all over the radio, haven't you been listening?"

"Can't say I have. I didn't think casinos were McNamara's thing,"

"They aren't. Mr. House is calling for a meeting with all major organizations in the Mojave after the celebration,"

The Knight that had waved Ramos over now had her helmet off and was shouting at him to come over. It was Watkins. With a slightly annoyed look on his face, Ramos turned to Watkins and put his hand up, signaling for her to wait.

"Anyway," continued Ramos, "Keep your eyes peeled and tell me if you see anything suspicious, okay?"

"Yes, sir!" retorted Veronica in a mock salute.

"Be careful out there," said Ramos as he put his power helmet on.

Veronica watched Ramos make his way towards Watkins. She couldn't make out what he was saying to her, but it was probably something about insubordination. She always hated conversing with members of the Brotherhood that she liked. It made her feel worse about leaving her old family behind. Though, seeing Watkins again made that sickly feeling a little better.

"All caravan guards for the Follower's shipment line up here!" called out a voice on the other end of the trading post.

Veronica picked up her duffle bag and made her way to the other end of the trading post. She spotted a few people lined up in front of a bald, middle-aged man who must have been the caravan overseer. He was holding a clipboard, calling out names to the bodies lined up in front of him.

Veronica recognized the man. She remembered the bartender refer to him as Ned. He worked with a small trading outfit called Trailblazing Traders. It was subsidized by Mr. House after "an unfortunate accident," caused the Crimson Caravan to withdraw from the region. Ever since the gap in business left by the Crimson Caravan's absence and House's subsidies, The Trailblazing Traders Trading Company (try saying that five times really fast) had become the main method for people to transport supplies.

The overseer called out one of the names on his list as Veronica managed to get in line, "Maria Fortes,"

A pretty looking brunette woman in a pair jeans with a bandolier of 10mm ammo wrapped around a leather jacket stepped forward. Veronica caught herself staring at the woman. Pretty women were hard to come by in this area of the Mojave. Most of the good-looking ones were in New Vegas and they were generally prostitutes.

"Maria, how old are you?" asked Ned. He had a slight southern twang in his accent like most people around the Mojave.

"Twenty-four,"

"Ok, have you done any caravan work before?"

"Yeah, some"

"Where?"

"Mostly in areas near Vegas. I did a few trips from Vegas to Jacobstown and back."

The overseer furrowed his brow, "Miss, I don't mean to come off as judgmental and all, but we're gonna be transporting some precious cargo through areas infested with raiders. This ain't no Vegas run through Freeside, fending off a couple of sorry lowlifes armed with pipes and what not. What makes you think you're qualified for this job?"

The woman held up a pair of dog tags, "I used to be an NCR trooper. I did a tour that mostly involved me fighting off a bunch of Fiends from overrunning New Vegas. I think I can handle a few raiders."

The man looked at the dog tags and then down at his clipboard and started scribbling in it, "You got a weapon?"

"Yes sir," said the woman as she held up a 10mm SMG.

"You know how to use it?"

"Of course I do,"

"Well, I hope so. Stand behind me, please," said Ned, gesturing Maria to get behind him.

"Alright, lets see here," said the overseer, looking back at his clipboard, "Kent Robertson?"

A young looking man stepped up in front of the overseer. In fact, he was so young, he didn't look like a man at all; he looked no older than fifteen. Not only did the kid look under aged, he looked under armed as well. He had no firearms; the only thing that he was armed with was a tire iron wedged in his belt, and he had no type of protection, either, just a pair of cargo pants and a torn up sweatshirt.

The caravan organizer didn't even bother questioning the youth, "Alright kid, you're clearly too young for this. Just leave and there wont be a problem."

"Too young? What the fuck are you talking about! I'm old enough; I'm eighteen," talked back the kid in a shrill voice.

Veronica rolled her eyes. There was always some idiot kid who was out for some wasteland adventure and signed on to be a temporary guard for a caravan. If they didn't get rejected by the caravan overseer, then they ended up getting themselves killed on the trail.

"Listen kid, you're not fooling anyone," stated the overseer, "Even if you were old enough, you have no armor and you have no real weapon. You'll just be a liability."

"Screw you old man!" yelled the kid, getting in the man's face, "how about if I make you a liability!"

The caravan overseer wasn't even fazed by the youth's threats. It was actually kind of funny from Veronica's perspective. The kid probably didn't even know what the word "liability," meant.

The overseer let out a sigh, "Mike, get this kid out of here."

A large, muscular looking man in a set of leather armor walked up from the caravan containing the medical supplies. He must have been one of the more permanent guards for the Trailblazing Traders. He approached the teen who, in response, began cower behind his hand.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! W-w-wait!" cried the kid, shrinking underneath the caravan guard, "I-I don't want no trouble–I'll go, okay? I'll go."

The guard held his ground as the kid took off. Ned motioned Mike to get back to guarding the caravan. He then looked back down at the list of names.

"Okay, Veronica Santangelo,"

"Right here," said Veronica as she the walked up to the overseer.

She was getting strange looks as she made her way up to the front of the line. It wasn't every day that you saw someone in a strange set of robes armed with a power fist walking around. The overseer flipped through a few pages on his clipboard and pulled out a letter, "One of them couriers from the Mojave Express saw your name on the list. He told me to give you this."

Ned handed the letter to Veronica as she took a closer look at it. It was in a plain white enveloped with Mr. House's seal on it. He would occasionally send letters or seek out his old companions to see how they were doing. On the occasions when Veronica received a message from him, the information on it was about a few weeks old. It took a while for the Mojave Express to track her down since she often wandered from place to place.

Ned took a closer look at his clipboard and flipped through a few more pages, "It says here that you've traveled with several caravans between the 188 and New Vegas. Is that correct?"

"Yep,"

"Good, we could use someone who's familiar with the route. I notice you got one of them power fists. Can you shoot?"

"Can I punch?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"And I'd prefer it if you had hair, but yeah, I can shoot."

That last comment earned a few snickers from the people behind her. Ned subconsciously started rubbing his bald head. Despite the derogatory remark from Veronica, the overseer seemed to let it slide. If he picked trail guards based on how nice they were, he probably would have been dead by now.

"Alright" said the caravan overseer as he let out another sigh, "get behind me."

Veronica stepped behind the aging man and stood next to the brunette named Maria. They both gave each other a courteous nod, acknowledging the other. As she waited for the overseer to finish going through the list of names, Veronica decided to read Mr. House's letter.

* * *

><p><em>Greetings,<em>

_ If you are receiving this, then you have been invited to Mr. House's Grand Reopening of the Lucky 38 Casino. The Reopening of the Lucky 38 will be catered by the cooks at the Gourmand, and entertainment will be handled by Tommy Torini, manager of the Aces Theater. All drinks will be on the House. _

_There will be a meeting held among the major factions in the region after the celebration. The following factions and cummunities who are asked to attend the assembly go as followed:_

_The Boomers_

_The Brotherhood of Steel_

_The Chairmen Family _

_The Followers of the Apocalypse_

_The Town of Goodsprings_

_The Village of Jacobstown_

_The Kings_

_The Town of Novac_

_The Omerta Family _

_The Town of Primm_

_The Town of Sloan_

_The Trailblazing Traders Trading Company_

_The White Glove Society_

_Each one of these factions is asked send one representative in possession of this invitation. Should one of these factions refuse to send a proper representative to the assembly, they will have no say in the meeting. If you have received this invitation, but are not a representative of the aforementioned towns, organizations, etc. you are welcome to observe so long as you are not disruptive (that goes for all representatives as well)._

_With each invitation a person is allowed to bring one companion. Whether it be a bodyguard or a date, there is no requirement. Should you wish to arm yourself, we ask that you and your companion (if you chose to bring one) come armed with nothing heavier than a .357 magnum revolver. We would also ask you to arrive in no armor as well (this means no power armor). This is supposed to be a civil occasion, not a chance to settle any unfinished scores. Failure to follow with the weapons and armor regulations will result in a confiscation of such items until said offender exits the casino._

_We hope that you come and grace us all with your presence._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Benjamin House_

* * *

><p>Though this was the first day she had heard about the Lucky 38's opening, she wasn't too surprised about the invitation from Mr. House. They both had been through a lot together. She was the second person after Boone to join "the gang," and she knew Ben before he became known as Mr. House and before he even started calling himself Ben.<p>

The caravan overseer continued to call out names from the list on his clipboard, separating the ones who looked like they actually had experience from the ones he felt weren't qualified. It wasn't a foolproof process, but it was better than none. With the exception of the NCR, the post-war world lacked official documentation methods.

For a guy who knew his caravan was undermanned, the overseer was rather picky. Out of a crowd of fifteen people, he only chose two other men. Veronica recognized the two. Both were mercenaries that stopped by at the 188 often. One of them tried hitting on her at the bar once, but after enough shooting down, he finally left her alone.

The overseer called out the last name on his list. It was sort of pointless though, since he was the only guy left standing in front of him.

"Butch DeLoria."

"Right here," said the man named Butch as he was eying one of the Brotherhood soldiers questing people as they went by.

He was wearing a greenish-grey, stained undershirt, a set of brown cargo pants and a pair of military combat boots. His dirty blonde hair was long and uneven in spots. It looked like he had cut it himself with a knife. Though he didn't have one of those crazy survivalist beards, it was apparent that this Butch hadn't shaved in quite some time.

Though there were a few noticeable scars on his face, the thing about him that stood out was his stare. It was one of those stares that said, 'I've seen more now than you ever will in a lifetime.' Veronica remembered Father Elijah had that sort of gaze. His eyes were steel colored, which made that stare all the more cryptic. She recalled reading out of a book somewhere that those metallic colored eyes were dangerous and ruthless. He had a lack of weapons on him, but his presence practically screamed lethal.

Despite the scars, un-kept hair, and the ancient gaze, Veronica noticed that the man was rather young. At a first glance, she would guess he was older than the trail overseer, but after taking a closer look, she noticed that Butch was probably about around her age. His perfectly proportioned face and his lack of wrinkles gave it away. Though his appearance made him look rough and rugged, there was something majestic about him. Though Veronica wasn't exactly in to guys, she couldn't help but look fixedly at him.

Ned's tone gave away the fact the he was tired of reviewing candidates. It was obvious he wanted to get this last guy over with. That's how caravan overseers were; they always wanted to get their trips done as quickly as possible, even if there was no real incentive for arriving early.

"Alright Butch, how old are you," inquired Ned.

"Twenty-five," responded Butch.

"Do you have any caravan experience?"

"No,"

"Have you done any mercenary work before?"

Butch shot another glace at the Brotherhood soldier who was now walking away. He seemed to lighten up a bit after the soldier left.

"Depends on what you call mercenary work," said Butch, shrugging.

"What are you trying to say son?" asked Ned, accusingly, "you a criminal?"

"No," responded Butch. His voice seemed a little uneasy, "Let's just say that I used to conduct quite a few operation east of here."

The overseer's face seemed to light up after hearing this. It was as if a light bulb had gone off in his head, "Oh I see, you're one of them Ranger fellas who went AWOL and joined up with Mr. House. I owe my life to one of you guys!"

Butch said nothing. There was a long silence as the overseer anticipated him to say something, but he got no response. Butch just merely shrugged his shoulders again.

"Oh I get it, you gotta stay incognito, " went on Ned, as he appeared to have caught some sort of a hint, "you must be on recon or something. Where's your weapon?"

Butch held up a 9mm pistol.

"That's it?" asked the overseer, slightly surprised that a ranger would come only armed with a pistol.

Butch rubbed the back of his neck as he directed his gaze at one of the Brotherhood Patrols, "My other weapons were…confiscated."

The overseer raised his eyebrows, "Ah, I see. Yep, they'll do that to ya."

"And I'd prefer it if I went through the area without drawing too much attention," explained Butch as he gave another uneasy glance towards the Brotherhood.

"Oh I see what you're trying to do now," said the overseer, "I can imagine that there's probably still some bad blood between y'all. Can't say I like them that much either, but they keep the roads safe."

Butch merely nodded in response, "Well regardless," continued the overseer, "welcome aboard, and I know that this probably isn't part of your mission and all, but I'll be willing to pay you for your services."

"Thank you," said Butch. He started to make his way towards the caravan until one of the mercenaries stopped him.

"Ned, you're not seriously going to let this guy on the caravan are you?" asked the mercenary. He seemed a little too agitated about this shady ranger.

"Why not, we could use a ranger to help protect us."

"You gotta be kidding me, Ned. For all you know, the guy's just pretending."

"He ain't," retorted Ned, "He's got that Ranger's stare. I've seen it before."

The mercenary looked back at Butch, "Well a stare's not good enough for me."

The merc tried to sucker punch Butch, but the apparent ranger dodged the blow. From Veronica's standpoint, dodging that punch wasn't anything special. The wind up and release were both slow.

After dodging the punch, Butch grabbed the mercenary's arm and pulled him forward, forcing the merc's diaphragm to hit his knee. The mercenary collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Though Veronica was perfectly capable of performing such a maneuver herself, it was obvious, ranger or not, the guy knew how to fight.

Ned let out a chuckle as the other mercenary went to go help his comrade, "I want to apologize for my friends behavior. He's a bit of a hot head and has a tendency to start fights that he has no business starting," explained the merc as he picked up his friend, "about a couple years ago, some one slipped modified psycho serum into his drink and he hasn't been that same ever since."

Butch didn't say or do anything in response. He eyed the two carefully, studying them.

"I better not have hired a psycho junkie, or there'll be hell to pay if I did," threatened Ned.

"Don't worry," responded the merc, "He's no junkie, he's just not right in the head, that's all, but he'll listen to me."

"He better" said Ned in a threatening tone.

A thought suddenly occurred to Veronica as she put her power fist away and pulled out her pistol. Uneasiness around Brotherhood, confiscated equipment, taking down an angry merc with almost no effort, it all fit but so did the ranger story. Though her more active part of her imagination was telling her one thing, the more reasonable side of her mind was telling her that it was likely just a coincidence. That "prisoner," probably wasn't the first well-trained fighter that the Brotherhood has confiscated equipment from, and a lot of people would feel uneasy around a bunch of zealots in power armor with laser rifles who worshipp technology. Regardless, if Veronica ran off to tell Ramos, the caravan would probably leave without her, and this Butch would be gone anyway.

"Alright everyone!" called out Ned, getting caravan's attention, "I want to get to New Vegas by noon today, no hold ups."

* * *

><p><strong>Can't say I'm entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but maybe its just me, tell me what you guys think.<strong>


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

**A/N: I've noticed there was a few heated reviews about Butch. All I have to say is this: for those of you who have played FO3, does Butch have blonde hair and grey eyes? Butch will be in some flashbacks (yes, there will be flashbacks), but he's not a central character in Part I. Once again, please read and review.**

* * *

><p><strong>Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood<strong>

**Part I: Chapter 5**

The caravan had been traveling for no longer than thirty minutes. So far, they hadn't seen anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, yet, but they were still in Brotherhood territory. Though the Brotherhood's policy for patrolling the roads had little to do with actually protecting people in the Mojave, areas where hostile soldiers in full suits of power armor armed with advanced energy weapons wasn't exactly the best location to hang around if you were a raider.

The caravan had three brahmin full of medical supplies. One was filled with bandages and stinpaks. Another was filled with miscellaneous medical supplies, rad-x, rad-away, and few bottles of buffout. The last Brahmin was a gold mine for junkies. It was exclusively filled with med-x and psycho.

Ned, and the two full-time caravan guards headed the first brahmin, the two mercs stood at the flanks of the middle brahmin, and Veronica, Maria, and Butch brought up the rear. For a caravan of three brahmins, it would appear heavily guarded, but it was undermanned compared to the value of goods that they were carrying. A normal sized raiding party wouldn't pose too much of a problem, but if they came across a large group of raiders, they would be in trouble.

Veronica didn't really understand why they were shipping such a large amount of narcotics and stimulants. It didn't seem to make much sense on how an organization meant to bring about a better world would need so many stims and morphine needles. Then again, a lot of things didn't seem to make sense to her. She shrugged off the random curiosity and continued with the task at hand.

The caravan continued until Ned stopped, "Okay people, we're gonna rest here before we continue. Ya'll are gonna have to keep on your toes after we pass that rock," he was pointing to large rock jutting out of the sand, "that rock there marks the edge of Brotherhood territory. Even if you're dying and you're just beyond the marker, no Brotherhood soldier will set foot pass that rock; so rest up and recuperate, but stay with your brahmin; we're moving on in ten minutes."

Veronica found a large stone to sit on as she waited for the caravan to move on. Butch stepped off the road, eyeballing the two mercs standing by the brahmin in front if his. Maria approached Butch, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag from it.

"So, you're a ranger,"

Butch didn't even acknowledge her presence, let alone her attempt to make conversation.

"I guess you're one of those silent assholes, huh?" observed Maria after realizing she wasn't going to get a response, "I guess that's typical with all you desert rangers. So what brings you out so far south of Vegas? I thought House had you guys busy dealing with the Fiends."

Butch still said nothing. After another response of silence from Butch, Maria spoke up again.

"Well geese," said Maria, throwing up her hands, "don't get too comfortable around me, we barely know each other."

"I don't think he's that interested in talking," commented Veronica.

"I guess so," responded Maria as she took a seat next Veronica on the rock, taking another drag from her cigarette, "so what's your story?"

"My story?"

"Yeah, why are you out here? What made you take this job?"

"Well," said Veronica trying to piece together a reasonable explanation, "I'm mostly just a drifter. I took this job because I needed the caps and the excitement."

Maria exhaled another drag from her cigarette, "Yeah, I can relate to that story."

"So what made you decide to stay in the Mojave after the NCR lost the dam?" asked Veronica after a short silence.

"I've lived here my whole life," explained Maria, "I signed up for a tour with the NCR because I didn't want the Legion to take over the Mojave. Not that it did much good though; I got assigned to Camp McCarran and spent the whole tour fighting Fiends, but I guess every little bit helped. Had I known Mr. House had plans to drive out both armies, I probably would have signed on with him."

"Huh," that's all Veronica said after hearing Maria's story. She was watching Butch. He reminded her of someone she used to travel with before.

The two sat there on the rock in quiet for the duration of the break. Butch kept his eyes fixed on the two mercs in front of them. Veronica, Butch, and Maria got in their sentry positions as the caravan continued on through the Mojave.

"We're in general raider territory right now," said Ned, after they passed "that rock." He sounded as if he was some sort of safari guide, "Vipers, Jackals, Kahn remnants, you name it, they're probably nearby. Stay vigilant."

The caravan continued trekking along the road for a few miles. Nothing interesting had happened so far. Maria and Veronica both made a few attempts to get Butch to say something, but guy stayed silent. He kept studying the mercenaries in front of him. Every so often, when one of the mercs would look back, Butch would quickly snap his gaze to the side or somewhere else.

At first Veronica had no idea why Butch had been eyeing the mercenaries so closely, but as they continued on the trail, Veronica couldn't help but get this uneasy feeling around them. If they weren't looking around their shoulder every other five seconds, they were talking to each other in low enough voices that that their conversation was inaudible. The two mercs were far enough away that relative quite would be needed to hear them clearly, but not to the point where it would be impossible to understand their conversation.

A few minutes passed until Butch Finally spoke up, "Find some cover," commanded Butch as he aimed his pistol at the two mercenaries in front of them.

"Find what?" asked Veronica; those were the first words Butch had said since the caravan left the 188.

Before what Butch said could fully register in Veronica's mind, he fired a 9mm round into one of the merc's back, dropping him to the ground. His companion turned around and drew his repeater but took two bullets from Butch's pistol in the chest before he could fire a shot off.

Ned turned around while the two other guards pointed their weapons at Butch, "Now what in the hell wa–"

Ned was cut off short as he and the other two guards were gunned down by a hail of bullets coming from the side of the road.

Events seemed to happen too fast for Veronica to react quickly enough. First, she saw Maria aim her SMG and fire a few bursts off into the distance. Next thing she knew, Butch had tackled her to the ground just before a small barrage of bullets flew through the space where she had just been standing. While on top of her, Butch held up his pistol and fired two rounds into the raider who had almost killed Veronica.

"Get to the ledge, I'll cover you!" shouted Maria as she let out a long burst from her SMG.

Veronica had no idea what ledge she was talking about, but Butch seemed to know. As soon as he got Veronica on her feet, he pulled her up a mound of boulders until they reached the top of the tallest one. Rounds were landing left and right as they made their way up. The ledge provided relative safety from the gunfire for a moment, so long as they kept their heads down.

It had been a long time since Veronica had been in a firefight this heavy before. With the exception of a few angry protectrons or wild animals, she hadn't had done any real fighting since the last battle for Hoover Dam.

Butch peered over the ledge and unloaded the rest of his clip at the raiders, taking two more of them down. That caused all guns to focus fire on his position, kicking up dirt and chunks of rocks in the process, but it bought just enough time for Maria to scurry up towards his and Veronica's position.

"How many?" asked Butch as he loaded another clip into his pistol.

"I counted twelve," answered Maria, breathing heavily, "I don't think I've seen a raiding party…that big before."

"They were tipped off," responded Butch.

"Yeah," said Maria, still panting, "I guess those mercs you shot were the ones?"

Butch nodded. Veronica knew the mercenaries were acting suspicious, but she had wondered what made Butch know they tipped off the raiders. She quickly stashed that thought away for the time being; now wasn't the time. All fire was focused and suppressing the three's position. If one did so much as glance over the ledge, they would probably get killed.

Butch turned to Veronica who still had a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah" said Veronica, shaking her head as she tried to reorient her senses, "close quarters is more my thing,"

Before Butch could say anything else, an explosive round hit just below the ledge. It made Veronica's ears ring and caused the whole rock to shake. The three covered their heads as dirt and rock fragments rained down on them from the explosion.

"We're gonna die if we stay here!" yelled Maria as the incoming fire increased.

"We have to retreat! They want the supplies, not us!" said Butch, shouting back.

Maria nodded in agreement, "I doubt they'll follow us past the rock formations. If we leave n–"

Maria stopped as she heard the roaring sound of a mini-gun. At first, Veronica though it was one of the raiders, but as the mini-gun continued, she realized it wasn't directed at them. She peered over the ledge to see a large squad of power-armored soldiers coming up the road.

"Brotherhood," said Butch as he swore under his breath.

"What are they doing this far out here?" wondered Maria allowed.

"I don't know. They must be after something if they're this far out," responded Veronica, half lying,

"Well whatever it is," declared Maria, "I don't want to stay long enough to find out."

"Agreed," confirmed Butch, "Let's go."

All three jumped down off the ledge, and started making a break for it. As soon as the Brotherhood spotted them, they started shooting. Fortunately for the three, they were too far out of range for the Brotherhood's weaponry to get an accurate shot off.

Veronica considered going back and trying to explain the situation but decided that it would be better to avoid her old family if they were in a "shoot first, ask questions later," kind of a mood. All three continued running up the road until the unit of Brotherhood soldiers was out of sight. Maria was the first one to stop.

"Okay," said Maria, breathing between every couple of words, "the Aerotech Park should…just be a few miles…up the road...we should be safe there"

She rested both of her hands on the top of her head to help her catch her breath easier. Veronica did the same, but Butch, though still breathing rather heavy, didn't seem to be as tired. As soon as she caught her breath, Veronica spoke up.

"But the Followers supplies; they need that shipment."

"Don't be stupid," retorted Maria, "We don't have the numbers or the firepower to take on those raiders, let alone the Brotherhood."

Veronica looked at Butch to see if he would agree with her, but he merely nodded, agreeing with Maria, "She's right; we'd get cut to pieces if we go back."

Butch's opinion seemed to be all Maria needed to continue up the road. Butch followed suit along with a reluctant Veronica. She had been counting on this trip being her chance to work more closely with the Followers, but the more Veronica actually thought about it, the more she realized how dumb the idea was from the start. She knew she couldn't work with the Followers. The Brotherhood had made sure of that two years ago.

Veronica hated to admit it, but she was just another waster now. She was just another waster with some extra knowledge in pre-war tech. After everything she had and tried to accomplish, she just turned out be a homeless wasteland wanderer.

* * *

><p>Hardin watched as the Knights and Paladins under his command picked through the carnage of what was supposed to be a caravan ambush. His men were examining the supplies carried by the Brahmin, and searching through the bodies of the dead, looking for any sign of the prisoner.<p>

The side Hardin's face was puffed out how. His face had already started to bruise. He overheard one of his Paladins make a comment to another about how the prisoner had really "fucked him up." The only reason why the prisoner bested him was because he got the jump on Hardin before he could react. This guy didn't play fair when it came to combat.

One of the Paladins approached Hardin and saluted. "What do you have Paladin?" asked Hardin.

"Sir," responded the Paladin, "We've checked the caravan. It's the right one; it's loaded with stims"

"And?"

"But we've checked the bodies, sir. None of them fit the Sentinel's description."

"You mean the prisoner,"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir…the prisoner,"

Hardin was slightly disappointed upon hearing this, but it was to be expected. Someone who was able to travel across the country and managed to escape their custody once before would be a challenge to find and confront again.

"So if our lead is right, one of those three who took off in the distance is the prisoner," said Hardin, thinking aloud, "There's nothing of further interest for us here. We're moving out."

"Sir, what about the medical supplies?" asked the Paladin.

"Booby trap them with explosives," ordered Hardin, "If our prisoner or any other raiders come by to pick them up, they'll have a little surprise waiting for them."


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

**A/N: Another chapter. As always, please read, review, and point out any grammatical errors you may notice.**

* * *

><p><strong>Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood<strong>

**Part I: Chapter 6**

This had been the second time Veronica had visited the Aerotech Facility. She had stopped there once before to get some R&R during a trip to Vegas. At the time, it was controlled by the NCR and used as a place to shelter people who had gambled too much away and were unable to pay for the costs to get back home. It was kind of depressing to see so many people down on their luck in one place. Now, it was used as a staging ground by the New Vegas Military to conduct operations for their campaign against the fiends.

Tents were erected in the space that was considered the courtyard. What used to be wandering junkies and lowlifes were now soldiers in light combat armor and desert rangers walking back and forth through the camp. Several securitrons manned the main entrance, while others were patrolling the camp. A couple of makeshift sniper perches and watchtowers had been erected since her last visit.

Shortly after the battle for the dam, the Fiends mounted an assault on Camp McCarran. After enough pushing, the band of Raiders finally managed to take control of the fortified camp, using it as their main base of operations. Once the NCR had completely withdrawn from the region, the Fiends were in control of most areas around outer Vegas. It wasn't long after that when they made an attempt to hit the strip, which failed miserably. House decided that it would be better to rid outer Vegas of the Fiends instead of waiting for them to plan a better organized and likely more successful attack.

House deployed the New Vegas Military against the Fiends about a year and a half ago. Progress was being made, but the fight was slow going. Since the conflict's beginning, the Fiends, though chem riddled, became more organized. Their strikes were better planned and they chose their targets more wisely. There was still the occasional stray raiding party that one might come across along the road, but the Fiends behaved more like a military than a gang of raiders. The NVM managed to take down Violet and Driver Nephi, but Cook-Cook and Motor Runner were still at large.

"Alright here we are" said Maria as the three of them walked into the middle of the courtyard, "The Aerotech Facility, or should I say base?–doesn't matter. I don't know where you guys are headed, but I'm gonna hang here for a while. I think I'm going to hitch a ride with a caravan headed south. What are you guys planning to do?"

"I guess I'm headed up to Vegas," responded Veronica, thinking about the invitation that House had sent her. It couldn't hurt to see how the guy was holding up.

Maria raised an eyebrow, "I don't know if that's such a good idea. I mean, you're going to be passing straight through Fiend territory if you take this route,"

"I can handle myself. It's not the first time I've had to sneak past a few Fiends," retorted Veronica.

Despite Veronica's assurance, Maria continued to warn her, "I…heard that the Fiend's presence along this stretch of road has gone up recently. Its one thing if a caravan armed to the teeth passes through, but I doubt they would let a pretty girl like you pass through alone without some…trouble,"

"I can handle myself," said Veronica confidently. When she was part of Ben House's "Gang," she once had to sneak past three camps of Fiends with Boone to retrieve ammo from a concealed weapons cache.

Maria shrugged "Well don't say I didn't warn ya," she then turned to Butch, "and what about you Ranger Butch?"

Butch was quiet for a moment. It looked as though he was going through another phase of silence until he finally spoke up.

"Um…I've been ordered to report farther north to Vegas,"

"Then you can come with me then," noted Veronica, "I could use some company."

Veronica shot a smile at Butch, who in return gave her a nod. It was an odd gesture, even rude, but she noticed that the edges of the man's lips curled ever so slightly. She wasn't sure whether he was hiding emotion or if that was how he showed it. She normally would give out sarcastic remarks to anyone who acted rude or odd around her, but the guy saved her life during the caravan ambush; so in Veronica's book, he could be a little strange if he wanted to.

Veronica and Butch said their goodbyes to Maria and left the base. They continued up the road for a little while until they reached the outskirts of NVM territory. Veronica decided to ask a question that had been on her mind since they left the Aerotech Facility.

"So, how experienced would you say you are with handling Fiends after they took Camp McCarran?"

A confused look grew on Butch's face, "Camp McCarran?"

Veronica halted in her tracks in a degree of surprise, causing Butch to do the same. She looked nearly as confused as Butch did.

"Yeah Camp McCarran," pressed Veronica, "What kind of ranger wouldn't know about Camp McCarran?"

Butch's eyes darted around as he was looking for an explanation, "Well…of course I have. It's–it's…just I've never been stationed there,"

Veronica called bullshit on that excuse. Every ranger was stationed at Camp McCarran at some point. She wasn't able to read people like Benjamin House could, but she could tell if a person was lying if she caught them off guard.

"You're not really a ranger," concluded Veronica, "are you?"

Butch was quiet for a moment. He then let out a sigh, "Look, its not that I don't want to trust you; it's just that the less you know about me, the better things will be for the both of us. I won't blame you if you decide to head back because of me, but I'm heading up to New Vegas with or without you."

Without a response from Veronica, Butch started walking up the road. Veronica was still trying to decide whether she wanted to travel with this guy or not. Though her common sense was telling her to turn around, something else inside was telling her to go with him. An old thought resurfaced, causing a light bulb to go off in her head.

"Hey Butch," called out Veronica. Butch stopped and turned around. He was only about ten or fifteen paces ahead of her.

"What kind of equipment did the Brotherhood confiscate off you?" inquired Veronica, thinking of the claim he made at the 188.

"You don't need to know that," said Butch dryly as he turned around and continued walking.

Without thinking it through properly, Veronica blurted it out, "was it a Pip-Boy 3000?"

Veronica's words seemed to hit Butch like a brick wall. He halted his pace and turned around once again. Except this time, he had his hand firmly planted on his holstered pistol.

"What makes you think they took a Pip-Boy off me?" asked Butch, narrowing his eyes. The question seemed more like an accusation than anything else.

Veronica immediately regretted the sudden outburst. Her mind trailed to her conversation with Ramos about how the prisoner managed to injure two soldiers in power armor with his bare hands as she stuttered for an answer "I–I–uh …heard about it; w–word travels around kinda fast around the 188."

"You're lying," said Butch as he unholstered his pistol and pointed it at Veronica, "tell me the truth,"

Veronica threw her hands up as a shield, not that it would help much if Butch started shooting. She was conflicted. She wasn't too sure if the truth would keep the guy from killing her. After a few seconds of contemplation, which seemed more like forever to Veronica, she finally decided to tell him the truth.

"Okay! Okay!" Veronica took a deep breath as she tried to calm her nerves to explain herself, "I…I was once a scribe for the Brotherhood of Steel, but I left a few years ago. I'm still on good terms with some of them."

Butch's finger eased of the trigger as he let Veronica continue, "Yesterday, Ramos, the guy who was transporting you, came up to me telling me about you and asked me about the model of the Pip-Boy they took off of you."

Veronica stopped for a moment, wondering if her story was good enough to appease Butch, but after a long pause, he was still pointing his gun at her.

"Look, I know it looks bad," added Veronica, "but I'm not spying on you for the Brotherhood. Personally, if all you had on you was a Pip-Boy, I think they should have left you alone, and had I known you were the prisoner who had escaped last night, I would have stayed out of your way."

The man's cold, steel eyes were scanning her as if he were a sentrybot evaluating her threat level. He was sending chills down Veronica's spine, and it wasn't just because he looked as though he might shoot her. After a moment of what seemed like forever, he finally lowered his gun, which brought some relief to Veronica, but he still had it pointed in her general direction.

"I'm Sentinel Kane," said the man as if he were reporting to a superior officer, "I'm belong to the Brotherhood of Steel Chapter in the Capitol Wasteland,"

"The Capitol Wasteland?" pondered Veronica aloud.

"I think we're referred to here as the Northeastern Chapter," clarified the Sentinel.

"Oh," said Veronica. That was the chapter she heard about who managed to power some giant battle robot and claimed to have defeated the remnants of the Enclave. If she recalled right, they had a small civil war due to disagreements over the Chapter's goals.

"I'm not planning on hurting you or any other members of the Brotherhood of Steel, but I will if I have to," continued Sentinel Kane "all I want is a council with the Elder of the Chapter in this region so I can explain myself and get my equipment back,"

"Okay, nice to meet you, Sentinel Kane," said Veronica, somewhat relieved by the man's words, "so what now?"

"Now, since you know who I am and have ties to the Brotherhood, I can't risk letting you know where I'm going or what I'm planning. I'm sorry,"

The Sentinel approached Veronica with his gun still drawn, causing her to panic again. Veronica had read stories about the Sentinels who existed in the Brotherhood long ago. Their own people feared them just as much as their enemies did.

"Hey! Hey! W-wait!, "cried Veronica, "I–I can help you!"

The Sentinel stopped, "How so?"

Veronica started stuttering again, "E-elder McNamara is going to be at th-the Lucky 38's reopening tomorrow–I-I can help you get in there, a-and you could talk to him. Just–y-you don't have to kill me!"

The Sentinel pondered her words before putting his pistol back in its holster, "Killing you wasn't what I had in mind,"

"Y-you weren't going to kill me?" asked Veronica. Despite the fact that Kane had already put his pistol away, she was still stuttering.

"Knock you out, restrain you, and leave you somewhere safe maybe," elaborated the Sentinel, "but kill you? No. Just something to make sure you wouldn't be able to follow me, but if you can help me…"

"Yeah," said Veronica, letting out a small sigh in relief, "as long as you don't hurt anyone, I'll help you"

"Okay, So what's this Reopening?"

"It's the Reopening of the Lucky 38 Casino. It's been closed since the War. Mr. House has invited various friends and VIPs across the Mojave. Elder McNamara is one of them,"

"An Elder of the Brotherhood going to a casino party?"

"Yeah," related Veronica, "That was my reaction too until I heard that he's holding a meeting with all major factions in the Mojave afterwards"

"Okay, so how do you suggest we sneak in there?"

"We won't have to," stated Veronica, "I was invited; I'm a friend of Mr. House. He and I…traveled together a few years back. Each invitation allows the invitee to bring one companion. Here, take a look."

Veronica reached into her duffle bag and pulled out the invitation and handed it to Sentinel Kane. Kane took the letter, opened it, and scanned the contents.

"This is the letter that Ned gave before the caravan left right?" inquired Kane.

"Right," confirmed Veronica.

"I see, and who is this Mr. House?"

"Wow, you're really not from here, are you?" remarked Veronica, "Okay, so anyway, in a nutshell, Mr. House is the Overseer of New Vegas and leader of the New Vegas Military. Just about whatever he says goes; so he's basically the Ruler of New Vegas. His laws aren't unreasonable, though, and he'll leave you alone as long as you don't break them, so no one's really complaining."

Up until this moment, Kane's eyes had been surveying her from top to bottom. Veronica primary reaction was that the man was checking her out (which was most men did when their eyes were "surveying," her), but reason told her that he was probably studying her body language to determine if she was lying or not. Maybe it was both? Regardless, hether it was her words, her plan, or her body language, it seemed to make the Sentinel think it was okay to keep her company.

"Okay then," he said in his typical monotone voice, lacking in emotion, "lets get going,"

"Not so fast," demanded Veronica. For a moment she could hardly believe that she was making the demands. Just moments ago, the man had a gun pointed at her.

"I answered your questions. Now you're going to have to answer mine,"

"I'm sorry," said Kane, apologetically but still in his plain and unemotional tone, "but I'd be putting both of us at risk if I told you more than you need to know,"

"Look, do you want my help or not?" asserted Veronica, putting a hand on her hip.

The Sentinel seemed to think it over before giving in to Veronica's demand, "fine, what do you want to know?"

"First off," expressed Veronica, "I'm not too good with formalities. I'd prefer to call you by your real name rather than 'Sentinel Kane,' all the time,"

"It's Logan," answered the man, "Logan Kane,"

"So you're name's not really Butch then," affirmed Veronica.

Logan shook his head, "no."

"Okay Logan," said Veronica as she moved on to her next question, "why do you need to meet with the Elder?"

"The Brotherhood has confiscated some valuable pieces of equipment off of me," elaborated Logan, "I've tried explaining myself to the Head Paladin, but…he wasn't willing to listen. My last chance of getting my belongings back peacefully would be through the Elder,"

"I see, and why do you need your equipment back so badly?"

"The Brotherhood has my Pip-Boy. It contains information that I need to complete my mission, which includes mapping data that will get me home."

"And what exactly _is_ your mission? Why are you this far west?"

Veronica caught a wince in the man's stare, breaking his stoic aura, as she asked the question. He was quiet for a moment. She thought he was going to go through another silent phase until he finally spoke up.

"My mission is to deliver classified information to the Elders of the Brotherhood in the West. Now does that answer all of your questions?"

"Yeah… for now," said Veronica. Though he didn't show it, she got the sense that she was starting to run Logan's patience thin. The short interrogation didn't answer all of Veronica's questions, but it savored her curiosity for the moment.

"Aright, lets move," said Logan as he continued walking down the road. Seeing the Sentinel walk along an open highway caused Veronica to remember something that was rather important.

"Hold on. Wait! one more thing," Called out Veronica, causing Logan to turn around with a slightly annoyed look in his gaze, "We're about the cross through Fiend territory. If we take the road, we'll be sitting ducks for any snipers; we're going to have to move from building to building."

Logan nodded, "Okay, good to know. Can we go now?"

"Yep, let's go make trouble,"


	7. Part I: Chapter 7

**Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood**

**Part I: Chapter 7**

"You said that close quarters is you thing right?" asked Logan, keeping his voice at a low whisper while he and Veronica were hiding behind a collapsed road sign.

"Yeah," said Veronica, keeping her voice as low as the Sentinel's.

"Have you ever had to kill a raider before?"

Veronica nodded her head.

"Okay then," responded Logan, "Show me what you can do. I'll cover you."

He gestured towards the lone Fiend who was a few yards ahead of the other side of the sign. She was enjoying a cigarette and seemed distracted enough for one to sneak up behind her.

Veronica prepped her power fist as Logan readied his pistol to fire in case anything went wrong. A few occasional pops and cracks could be heard in the distance, which was unmistakably gunfire. The Fiends and NVM liked taking potshots at one another from their fortified positions. If Logan fired off his pistol, it probably wouldn't attract too much attention.

Veronica snuck up behind the Fiend until she was only a few feet away. She called out to the Fiend, getting her attention.

"Hey!"

The Fiend jumped and turned around only to get her head smashed by Veronica's power fist. The former scribe couldn't have asked for a more perfect hit. She got the raider right in the temple and was dead before she hit the ground. Veronica could hear Logan's footsteps approaching from behind.

"Not bad," he said as he knelt down to inspect the Fiend's body, "not bad at all,"

He picked up the hunting rifle that the dead Fiend had been wielding. It was in poor condition and looked as though it was bound to jam within a few rounds. It would just be extra weight if they decided to take it.

Logan then rolled the Fiend's body over its back and began searching. He dug through various pockets and pouches, pulling out a used up jet inhaler, a pack of cigarettes, and a knife. With the exception of the knife, he tossed the items off to the side of the corpse.

He examined the knife. It was a combat knife and unlike the hunting rifle, it was still in pretty good condition. There were a few spots of rust on it, but the tip was still pointy and the edge was still sharp. Logan sheathed the knife between his belt and his cargo pants as he got up.

"We need to get going," he said.

The two made their way into a nearby ruined building. The roof had long since collapsed, exposing them to the early afternoon sun. The walls were half collapsed as well as a staircase. Piles of rubble littered the area inside the old building.

Veronica and Logan had been moving from cover to cover for about a half an hour now. They moved swiftly and softly, being careful so not to alert any guards. They had previously spotted a few Fiends standing watch on a ledge or in a building, but it wasn't anything the two couldn't sneak past.

Logan took the lead the whole way. Though Veronica was no stranger to covert operations, the Sentinel was obviously more experienced in stealthy tactics. It appeared to be almost second nature to him.

Though it was used in some instances, stealth wasn't considered a conventional tactic by the Brotherhood. Power armor, though protective, was extremely bulky and hard to make precise and light movements in. The Brotherhood typically relied on the basic tactic of having heavier armor and heavier guns than the opposition. It was the Brotherhood's signature strength, but it was also their signature weakness. Veronica found it peculiar that such a distinguished member of the Brotherhood of Steel would be so well versed in the art of stealth.

They were just about to make a run from one building to another when Logan signaled Veronica to stop. He leaned just over the edge of the half destroyed wall and immediately pulled his head back. Veronica could hear several pairs of footsteps walking along the other side of the wall.

"So why da hell are we headin out anyways?" asked a voice from the other side of the wall.

"Because dat shipment was supposed to be hea ova an hour ago, dat's why," answered another voice.

"But dey could'a been held up," suggested the first voice.

"Well dey aint my ordas, so quit ya whinin," remarked the second voice, sounding agitated.

The two's argument grew fainter and fainter until their group had moved out of earshot. Logan poked his beyond the ruined wall and looked both ways. He pulled his head back and whispered to Veronica.

"Coast is clear; let's move,"

The two ran out of the ruined building and entered the adjacent one, which was in similar condition. They carefully picked their way through that building and exited it when they were sure no one was around. They then took cover behind a four-foot-high stone wall that ran parallel to the building that they had just moved through. There was a series of old pre-War houses that were lined up along the other side of the stone wall. All doors and windows were boarded up and the spaces in between the houses were barricaded; so the two would have to follow the stone wall until they found an opening or made it around the housing complex.

They continued along the wall until they reached its end and the end of the series of houses. The space they had to move through was narrow. On the right side was the sidewall of the house on the end of the complex and on the left side were the ever-imposing walls of camp McCarran. They were deep in Fiend Territory now. They moved up through the narrow pass until they reached the end.

Logan looked around the corner of the house's wall on the right and spotted another lone Fiend standing in front of a campfire. The nearest bit of cover was too far for Veronica and Logan to jump to without the Fiend noticing.

"This one's mine," claimed Logan as he drew out his newly acquired combat knife.

Slowly, the Sentinel crept his way up to the Fiend; his movements were completely silent. As soon as he was close enough to the Fiend, he wrapped his arm around him and cupped a hand over his mouth. Veronica could hear the Fiend's muffled screams as Logan drove his knife into the Fiend's chest. The raider jerked and twisted as Logan restrained him in his arms. The Fiend's movements steadily slowed as he died. When the Fiend stopped moving completely, Logan gently lowered the body to the ground. He pulled the knife and wiped off the blood onto the dead Fiend's pant leg.

He then motioned over to Veronica, keeping his voice as close to a whisper as he could but still being audible, "Come on!"

They continued moving building-to-building, cover-to-cover. Logan would periodically stop and wait for a Fiend or two to walk by. Now that they were in the middle of the Fiend's turf, they were going to have to move much more carefully and much more quietly.

As Veronica followed Logan, he stopped suddenly and swiftly snapped his head towards the distance as a nightstalker would if its primal instincts had been alerted.

"Dogs,"

Veronica could hear the faint barking off in the distance.

"If they haven't already picked up on our trail, they will if we stay here long," urged the Sentinel, "We have to move now!"

Logan grabbed Veronica's arm and pulled her out of cover. They started to pick up the pace. As the sounds of dogs grew closer, the two weren't so much concerned with stealth as they were with reaching NVM territory before the search party reached them.

Logan led Veronica into and narrow alley between two buildings. It turned out to be a bad decision since there were two idle Fiends standing in it, but there was no time to turn around.

"What the fu–"

The first Fiend's sentenced was interrupted as he received a bone crushing punch from Veronica's power fist in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, holding his chest and groaning in pain. Before the second Fiend could react, Logan pounced on the raider with his combat knife, forcing it into the bandit's jugular.

The dogs sounded as though there were only a block away. Logan and Veronica were going to have to hurry. They were about a half-mile beyond the northern territory held by the NVM.

Veronica ran as fast as her legs would let her move. She dared not look back. It could slow her down and every second counted.

They reached a three-story building with barricades made from old road signs, stacked cars, and buses jutting out from both ends. It must have been the northern wall constructed by the Fiends to help keep the NVM from overrunning them from the north.

As the two made a dash for the building, a nearby Fiend opened fire on them with an assault rifle.

"Screw you!" he yelled as he landed bullets left and right of Veronica and Logan, but none of them actually hitting his mark.

The doors to the pre-War building busted open as Logan charged through them like a bull would. Veronica followed him to the top of the three-story building. Though the first two floors were mostly intact, the roof on the third floor had collapsed and there was a lack of walls.

On the northern edge of the third floor was an unstable looking makeshift catwalk built out of chunks of cars and other large pieces of scrap metal. Logan was the fist to go down it. Every step he made caused the whole thing to creak. The catwalk wasn't built to be rushed down on in a hurry.

Whether it was because of the extra weight added or if it was just her bad luck, when Veronica planted her foot on the poorly constructed scaffolding, the entire thing collapsed. Logan's image disappeared underneath a wave of twisting and screeching metal. A huge cloud of dust kicked up as the once been catwalk crashed to the ground. When the dust settled, the Sentinel's body was completely buried by a pile of bent pipes, pieces of pre-War vehicles, and other chunks of scrap metal.

Veronica had no idea what to do now. Logan was gone, as well as her only means of evasion, and there was no question that the Fiends were still on her tail. Veronica looked all around her, searching for some alternate escape route. There was none.

"Think, Veronica think!" she said aloud as she closed her eyes, searching her brian for a solution to her predicament.

"Think this," said a male voice behind her as Veronica felt a blunt object hit the back of her head.

The former scribe's vision went dark as her senses started to numb. The last sensation she felt was the feeling of being dragged through the dust and rubble of the pre-War building.


	8. Part I: Chapter 8

**A/N: Okay, SO BEFORE READING THIS CHAPTER, I suggest you read the last part of the previous one. I wasn't too happy with how it ended and decided to change it a little bit. I feel that it suites the story's flow better. I know, the whole damsel in distress concept has been played thousands of times before, but I'm using it as an opportunity to help shed some light on Logan. Hopefully it works out. As always, please read and review.**

* * *

><p><strong>Fallout: Crusaders of the Brotherhood<strong>

**Part I: Chapter 8**

The boots of his armor made a distinct clunking noise as he ran. This was only the third time he had worn power armor in combat. The suite was heavy. Even though its hydraulics system did most of the work, it still felt like you were carrying a large table on your back.

Despite his inexperience with power armor, he was glad to have it on. The trip to the Purifier would be much more painful if it weren't for the suite. Small bits of rock and debris from nearby explosions ricochet off his armor as he made his way across the bridge.

"_Communist threat detected!_" announced Liberty Prime in his deep robotic voice before letting out another burst of blue lasers from his eyes, "_For America!_"

As the fight drew on, Logan grew a little too comfortable with the situation. All Enclave fire was directed at Prime. Even though he and the rest of the Lyon's Pride were out in the open, there was virtually no incoming enemy fire. They were basically playing clean up crew, killing the few soldiers that managed to escape Prime's sensors. As Logan's attention focused more on the robot than himself, a mortar round landed a little too close to him.

Logan was knocked off his feet. Thankfully, the power armor shielded him from most of the blast; he was just a little dazed from the explosion.

"Get up soldier!" shouted a familiar voice, "this is no time for you be lying around!"

It was Sarah. She ran into Logan's field of vision, the morning sun reflecting off her golden blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked just as beautiful as he remembered her. He never understood why she didn't wear her helmet in combat, but it never seemed be much of an issue for her.

"Get up, Kane!" ordered Sarah again, offering her hand. Logan tried to take it, but he couldn't. His entire body felt pinned to the ground, paralyzed.

Sarah knelt down beside Logan and pulled off his helmet, holding him in her arms just as the way he did with her nearly three years ago. She was still shouting over the battle raging over the Purifier, "Wake up, dammit! She needs your help!"

"She what?" asked Logan, breathing heavily and a little confused. As far as he knew, there was no "she," that needed his help.

Suddenly, the entire battle around them halted in time. Prime was completely still in mid step as he let another blue stream of light from his eyes. An Enclave soldier's body, which had been thrown up by a nearby exploding car, was completely stationary in mid-air. Logan spotted Glade in the corner of his eye who was firing off his mini-gun, the bullets frozen in their path. It was just him and Sarah now. Her voice grew soft to a near whisper as she spoke.

"She needs you, Logan. Wake up,"

* * *

><p>Logan's eyes shot open. At first, he saw and felt nothing. For a minute, he thought he was dead.<p>

'It's about damn time,' he thought, but no, he wasn't dead. Crusaders have been known to be hard to kill; he was no exception. In fact, he was the prime example.

Much to his dismay, his vision slowly formed back as the feeling in his body returned. He was alive as he ever was.

Oh well, it's just the way things go; disappointments: life is full of them.

There was about a six-inch gash recently carved into the Sentinel's chest, but it was nothing a stimpak and a few stitches couldn't fix. He was feeling a slight stabbing sensation in his knee, but he could walk and probably run on it just fine. For the most part, against all odds, Logan was okay.

He started the process of digging his way out, but stopped when he heard a pair of voices coming his way.

* * *

><p>"Why da fuck do we have to sort through all dis shit now?" complained Tick, still pissed about their assignment.<p>

"Hell if I know," replied Pounder, "probably cuz Ripper-Jack wants ta be da first one to play wit dat new friend of his,"

"Well screw him! I say we ditch dis job and go steal dat bitch for ourselves. Da only reason why he's band chief is cuz he used to hang wit Cook-cook,"

"Well yous can go ahead and do dat but I ain't helpin. Bitch or no bitch, I don't wanna be on the wrong side to Jack's rippa or Cook-cook's flamthrowa."

Tick grew silent. He knew just as well as Pounder did what would happen if he decided to disobey an order. Pounder, always being the guy to try to see the brighter side of things voiced another one of his optimisms.

"All we have ta do is make sure dat asshole the girl was with is dead; who knows, we probably won't get first dibs, but if we find da guy's body fast enough, we might be able ta get a piece of dat ass ourselves."

"Hmph," grunted Tick. He wasn't happy about it, but his friend was right. They were just a couple of low men on the totem pole. No matter how ballsy Tick could be, he and Pounder were just a couple of pee-ons. They'd be lucky to see any action even if they weren't assigned this crap job.

Tick and Pounder started digging through the scrap pile, searching for any sign of the man that the girl was with. The sun was beating down on the two as they moved the remnants of the catwalk piece by piece. It didn't take long for them to break a sweat.

Tick had witnessed the guy kill one of his friends in an alleyway with a knife. He was pretty pissed about it still, but it wasn't the first time he had lost a friend to some jackass with a knife or gun or whatever.

"Aw shit!" cried Pounder. He jumped back from the pile.

"What?" asked Tick.

"I just fucking saw somethin move man!" Pounder's face looked as if he had just seen a giant spider or something.

"Quit pissin yaself!" complained Tick; it wasn't the first time he'd seen Pounder spooked over nothing, "What did you see?"

"In there!" said Pounder, pointing at the pile of metal, "I just saw some piece of metal move on its own!"

"Seriously? C'mon man," doubted Tick, "It's just in yer head. Let's just find the dead guy's body and get this over with,"

"I wouldn't do dat man!" warned pounder, adamant about what he saw, "What if he's still alive!"

"That's a load'a crap!" snarled Tick, still in disbelief of his friend, "If he was still up and alive and all, he would–,"

Tick's words were cut off as a pair of arms emerged from the pile of scrap, one wielding a combat knife, the other, a pistol. They wrapped around the Fiend and stabbed him in the kidney. Pounder watched the life drain out of Tick's body as the man, who was thought to be dead, emerged out of the pile. He was pointing the pistol right at him.

"Drop your gun, hands where I can see them," commanded the man. His voice had no emotion or excitement to it. Pounder might as well have been talking to a robot.

"And the pipe," added the stranger.

Pounder tossed his pistol and lead pipe in front of him, throwing his hands up in surrender. Though he was a Fiend, he wasn't stupid. His best bet for survival would be to do whatever this guy told him.

"Listen man!" babbled Pounder, "Whateva it was that pissed ya off, it wasn't me. I swea; I was jes–"

"Shut-up," ordered the stranger. His eyes were cold, grey, and downright feral. He reminded Pounder of one of Violet's psycho dogs, "I need you to answer some questions for me,"

"Yea, sure, whateva ya wants me to do man. Jes don't kill me!" pleaded the raider.

"Good, now tell me who this 'piece of ass,' is that you and your friend were talking about."

* * *

><p>The door to the recreation house swung open as three raiders made their way inside; one of them was carrying an unconscious woman on his back. The building was small, one story, and a single room. The rec center was dimly lit by two light bulbs that hung from the ceiling by a single wire. There were chairs, tables, and boxes scattered throughout the building as well as a pool table brought in from Vault 3. Several cots were lined up in the back in case anyone got a little too…carried away with their R&amp;R time. No one ever bothered cleaning up the place so there were various empty liquor bottles, jet inhalers, and syringes scattered all over the room.<p>

Ripper-Jack, the Band Chief of the Fiends in the northern camps, tossed the still unconscious girl onto one of the cots in the back. Aside from Jack and the two other Fiends, the recreation building was completely vacant; Jack made sure of that. All men that weren't already on duty were assigned crap jobs to keep them out of the recreation room. Unlike some of his counterparts, if he was gonna fuck someone, he'd rather do it in private.

"Jerry," spoke up Jack, directing his attention towards his second in command, "go get me sumthin to tie dis bitch up with,"

The girl was still unconscious so she wouldn't be able to put up a fight, but if she woke up, it would be more convenient for Ripper-Jack if she were already bounded.

"Right on it," complied Jerry as he placed his newly acquired power-fist and pistol on a nearby table and started rummaging through a few metal boxes.

Jack then turned to the other Fiend; he was just your common grunt, "Patches, go stand guard at da door and don't botha me unless there's a real emergency,"

Patches nodded and headed for the door. Jerry came back with a few feet of rotted rope and tied the girl's arms and legs to the edge of the cot. Jack waited until his second in command was finished.

"Go wait outside wit Patches," ordered Jack as he motioned to the Door, "When I'm done, she's all yours"

Jerry nodded and made his way to the exit. As soon as he left, the Band Chief tossed his assault rifle and ripper carelessly to the side, and practically skipped to the girl whose body had been tied down and spread across the cot. Though he was good about not showing it, he had an itching that hadn't been scratched in quite a while, and he was a little too eager to tend to his…business.

The Fiend Captain jumped on top of and straddled the girl. He pulled her hood over her head, concealing most of her face. It helped prevent any feelings of sympathy for his victims to surface inside Jack if he didn't see their faces. Most people wouldn't think of a Fiend feeling sorry for their victims, but it sometimes happened…sometimes.

He then begun the process of "undressing," the girl. Of course, a Fiend's definition of undressing would be more look more like pulling and tearing to anyone else. To Jack's dismay, her clothing would not rip. Though it looked like a collection of rags sewn together, it was made of some sort of tough fiber that proved to be impossible to tear.

"Argh," grunted Jack in frustration. His ripper would probably do the trick, but it could possibly hurt the girl in the process. Not that he really cared about her safety; he just didn't want to end up killing her. He knew some sickos who were into that kind of shit, but he wasn't one of them. He knew Patches had a knife on him; it could probably get the job done just fine.

"Hey Patches!" yelled Jack, "I need to borrow ya knife."

There was no response.

After a long reticence, Jack hopped off the girl and raised his voice even higher, "Patches, What da fuck?"

The only response the Raider Chief got was a ghostly silence.

"Patches?"

There was no answer.

"Jerry?"

Still nothing.

* * *

><p>Sgt. Rich Wilson was the man in charge of the New Vegas East Gate that led into Freeside. Today had been one of those more boring days. He and his squad had only checked one caravan in and another one out. Other then that, nothing else happened.<p>

Though his "specific," orders were to have all men at the ready in case of a potential infiltration or assault, on days such as these, where there were only a handful of people passing through, you really only needed two men to stand watch.

It was Wilson's shift along with one of the privates under his command. The rest of the men were either napping or playing cards with that member of the kings who befriended Wilson's squad few months ago.

The Srgeant let out a sigh as he looked down at his rifle. There was no explicit reason for the sigh, he just felt like sighing. When he looked up again, he noticed a strange sight coming up the road.

As the figure grew closer, Wilson could make out a man carrying another person in his arms. When he was in about fifty yards from the checkpoint, he noticed that the person the man was carrying was a woman dressed in a strange set of robes. The man himself had what looked like a red stripe on his shirt, but as he drew closer, the sergeant realized it was an open wound.

"Halt!" shouted the private, aiming his rifle and sounding a little too enthusiastic; most green horns were, "state your business!"

"Private, stand down! I'll handle this," ordered Wilson, trying to cease any potential hostilities before they started. The private slowly lowered his rifle as Wilson approached the grizzled looking man.

"What's your business here?" asked Wilson, making his voice sound neither threatening nor welcoming.

"I need to get this person to a medical center," stated the man, referring to the unconscious woman in his arms.

"Uh huh," responded Wilson, "and would you mind telling me why this girl seems to be knocked out and why you have that gash on your chest?"

"We were attacked by Fiends," answered the man coolly.

Sgt. Wilson nodded, "I figured as much. Head to the Follower's outpost at the Old Mormon Fort. It should be right there on the left side after you enter through this gate. You can't miss it."

"Thank you," said the stranger.

"You're welcome," retorted the sergeant while turning to one of his men, "Reyes, open the gate,"

As his men opened the gates, Wilson gave the man the same statement he gave everyone else who entered the city, "You are allowed to bring any weapons inside the gate, but be warned; any unprovoked acts violence will get you shot."


End file.
